


Long Lost Incentive

by SadieYuki



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Hurt Jim, Jim whump, Post-Narada, Reunion, Tarsus IV, Torture, Winona's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-02 12:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadieYuki/pseuds/SadieYuki
Summary: In the weeks following the Narada incident, Jim is running on fumes. Still healing from the fight and run ragged by the demanding debrief schedule set to him by the Admirals, Jim wants and needs nothing more than to sleep for a week. But in Jim’s experience, life is hardly ever that kind to him. And as he wakes up in a cold, barren room, blindfolded and restrained, with no memory of how he ended up there, Jim knows this will be no exception.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is entirely written; the next part will be up in a few days.

_As the door to his dorm room slid open, Jim dragged his feet to his bed and collapsed face-first, groaning as his body finally had the chance to relax. He had spent the whole day trapped in a conference room with the Admirals, whose favorite pastime seemed to be tearing every little decision he had made to shreds. Sure, he saved the planet and all, but how dare he jettison a multi-million credit warp core, even though it was the only way to save the_ Enterprise _and her crew?_

_“Make sure you set an alarm for the morning before you pass out.”_

_Jim groaned in annoyance this time as the gruff southern drawl of Bones’s words filtered through his tired ears. “I will,” Jim mumbled groggily._

_“At this rate, you’re not gonna wake up ‘til tomorrow afternoon. Don’t you have another meeting with the Admirals in the morning?”_

_“I’m **aware** , Bones,” Jim said, pressing himself further into his mattress. “If I’m not up, just kick me on your way out.”_

_“I’m leaving **now** , you infant.”_

_Jim rolled his head so he was actually facing Bones now, and noticed belatedly that the man was already dressed in his scrubs and had his bag strapped over his shoulder. “What?” Jim asked eloquently._

_Bones rolled his eyes, “I’ve got a double shift, remember? I’m working through the night and into tomorrow afternoon.”_

_“Right,” Jim muttered, pressing his face back into the mattress. “Forgot,” he continued, voice muffled._

_Jim could almost visualize Bones rolling his eyes again before he said, “You’ll be done with tomorrow’s meeting by 1400, right? Wanna get a late lunch at Dunaly’s?”_

_Jim tried to nod his head but the bed impeded the motion, so he rolled his head to the side again and said, “Sure, I’ll meet’chu there. Hey, tell Pike I said hi,” he added, flailing his hand uncoordinatedly in an unnecessary attempt to catch Bones’s attention._

_Bones’s gaze softened. “Jim, he’s not gonna be taken off those sedatives for another week at least.”_

_“Yeah, but’chu c’n still tell ‘im,” Jim said stubbornly, voice slurring with exhaustion._

_“I will, kid,” Bones said placatingly. “Try to change out of your reds before you fall asleep, I don’t think the Admirals will appreciate the wrinkled attire,” Bones chided, nearing the door. “And eat something, I just put some leftovers in the fridge.”_

_Jim nodded sleepily again. “I’ll change n’ shower,” he said, even as his eyes slipped closed._

_“And **eat**.”_

_“An’ ea’.”_

_Bones let out a sigh as the door slid open. “And don’t forget to set your alarm!” he added just before the door closed behind him._

_“Mm-hmm,” Jim responded to the empty room. “Compu’er, se’ alarm f’r 0600...”_

_He was asleep before he could hear the confirmation._

* * *

Jim woke up with a dull pain in his shoulders and an uncomfortable ache by his sternum.

The room was dark behind his eyelids, and Jim congratulated himself on apparently subconsciously ordering the lights off before completely surrendering to sleep. Though apparently he didn’t fully succeed in declothing himself because while his chest felt bare, Jim could definitely feel the rough material of his cadet slacks on his legs.

But now that he was waking up, something wasn’t right. The sensations on his body were off somehow.

While he was confident those were in fact his cadet slacks, Jim was acutely aware that this was not his bed. Further solidifying this realization was the feeling of coarse grit against his back, hard and unyielding. And Jim knew he slept on his hands sometimes, but the pressure on his wrists was all wrong. As more awareness flooded his senses, he realized he was actually sitting.

When an attempt to open his eyes failed, Jim immediately snapped into alertness. A thick, heavy fabric was fastened around his head, blocking his eyes and pressing uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose. His hands jerked in an attempt to remove it, but the pressure on his wrists revealed itself to be restraints, holding his hands inches above his head. Using his fingers to feel around the area, he felt a coil of synthetic rope wrapped around both wrists, fed through a metal ring in the wall behind him.

Jim shifted his whole body, wincing as his shoulders and arms protested the movement, but found that his wrists seemed to be the only thing restrained. Now that he had started moving around, he found that he couldn’t settle back into a comfortable position. Granted, he doubted anyone could consider themselves _comfortable_ when chained to a wall.

Which begged the question: _what’s going on?_

The last thing Jim remembered was promising to change and shower before sleeping— _whoops_ —and making lunch plans with Bones. So how did he end up half-naked, blindfolded, and chained to a wall?

Jim jerked his wrists again, and when nothing gave way, he felt the tendrils of panic begin to lick at him. He took a sharp breath and held it in an attempt to settle his nerves, and when the pressure in his lungs became almost unbearable, he let the air out slowly through pursed lips. _Okay Jim, focus._

He shifted his lower half, hoping he’d be able to feel the communicator that had been in his pocket, but nothing was there. With the movement, he realized his boots and socks had also been removed. He scrunched his nose in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold, but found it was too tight and secure to budge. In fact, the blindfold was pressing against his ears tightly as well, amplifying his breaths and movements.

As his fingers moved to investigate the metal ring further, Jim heard the _swoosh_ of a door sliding open, and the muted thud of footsteps—two sets—as they entered the room and stepped towards Jim.

The footsteps paused on either side of him, and Jim let out a sharp grunt when a hand suddenly fisted his hair. Another hand grabbed his neck just under the jaw and shoved it towards the wall. Jim’s head was pinned to the wall as the other set of hands loosened the blindfold.

The sudden rush of light blinded him momentarily, but Jim tried to blink the brightness away quickly to try and catch a glimpse of his apparent captors. But this seemed to be the purpose of the first set of hands, because the pair was outside of his line of sight, and he couldn’t move his head enough to change the angle. All he could make out were dark torsos—maybe leather jackets or similar—and dark utility pants.

Just as Jim’s vision was starting to come into focus, the hand around his neck shifted and suddenly forced his head forward. Jim cried out as the push put strain on his arms, and barely had time to notice his own reflection in a large mirror across the room before the blindfold was refitted around his eyes, plunging him into darkness again.

The hands released him, and one pair of footsteps walked away from him and out the door, while the other seemed to be staying in the room, hovering to the side.

_What just happened? And what was the point of it? Why risk taking the blindfold off for a few seconds just to put it back on again?_

_And what the fuck’s going on in the first place?_

“I don’t know where you got your information, but bondage isn’t really my thing,” Jim snarked, hoping to get a reaction. Not a sound from his roommate. “I don’t think _you’ve_ been into it very long though, you’re not very good at it.” Still nothing.

Jim frowned, taking the silence and inaction as a chance to evaluate his situation.

He went to sleep in his dorm room (passed out more like).

He woke up blindfolded, half-naked, and chained to a wall.

His captors didn’t want him to know who they were, but still risked taking his blindfold off for a moment.

He had _no idea_ what they wanted from him.

Jim wasn’t a target. He didn’t have valuable intel, and he wasn’t an irreplaceable asset. He was a _cadet_ for fucks’ sake. Being the son of George Kirk made him high profile in Starfleet, but that wasn’t worth anything in the real world. And sure, he had a part in saving Earth, but so did a lot of people; people a lot more valuable than him. Spock was a huge part of it, and he was a Starfleet Commander. Hell, he was the Vulcan Ambassador’s son. _That_ would be ransom worthy. But Jim? Starfleet wasn’t exactly thrilled with him at the moment. He’d be lucky if he kept his spot at the Academy after the stunts he pulled; the Admirals wouldn’t risk anything just to get him back in one piece.

_So it can’t be a ransom—_

Jim was brought out of his thoughts by a sharp tug on his wrists. His hands were being pulled higher and higher, the ring moving up the wall. All too soon, his wrists were supporting most of his weight, and Jim scrambled to get his feet underneath himself. But the effort was for naught as the metal ring continued up the wall until his entire body weight was hanging on his wrists, back scraping against the coarse grit of the wall. His body lost contact with the wall as the ring lurched forward, and though he was still blinded, Jim figured he was now suspended in the middle of the room.

Jim flinched as a hand ran slowly up his back, brushing over the raised skin that was a permanent reminder of the last time he had been held captive. As the hand moved to his shoulder and pushed, gently turning him so his back faced the mirror, Jim hoped that this experience would not turn out as badly as the last one had.

The hand left his shoulder, and Jim swung back around until he was hanging facing the mirror again. Not that he could see it. Not that he really _wanted_ to see himself at that moment, but he’d much rather be without the blindfold.

“Seriously, I’m _not_ into this shit,” Jim tried, panic levels starting to rise again. “And if I was, you’re definitely supposed to negotiate first—”

He heard the whistle of air before he felt the sharp _crack_ against his back, and a cry of pain escaped his mouth. It wasn’t a new sensation, but _fuck,_ he forgot how much it hurt. Another _fwip—crack_ and this time Jim clenched his jaw, unwilling to let another sound escape him.

Jim had read somewhere that it was impossible to remember the extent of past experiences of pain. May it be a month or a decade later, the human mind dulled the memory. It was why women were able to give birth more than once, because as much as it hurt at the time, the mind intentionally blocks just how painful the labor was. Until you experience it again in the moment.

Jim would never equate a lashing to childbirth, but memory of pain certainly carried over here. And of course it was a fucking cat o’nine tails— _fwip, crack!_ —though it thankfully seemed to be lacking some of the bells and whistles; no knots or metal attachments that he could feel. The pain was still there, but it wouldn’t cause disfigurement until he received more lashes than a single person could inflict in one session. Though he wasn’t optimistic that he’d escape this without more scars to add to his collection.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me,” Jim cut himself off with a grunt, another strike landing on the side of his ribcage this time. That was _not_ standard. His back could take it for a while, the skin was tough and hardened, but his sides were much more sensitive. The sting lingered far longer that time. “But things would probably go smoother for the both of us if you’d just— _fuck!”_ Another strike landed across his chest this time; though honestly that was preferable to his sides. But even with the chest and rib strikes...this guy was a professional. To hit those areas and not break a bone on the first try, that required skill. “Seriously, you’re bypassing the whole me-not-cooperating part. Takes all the— _hnnn_ —fun out of it.”

So taunting really wasn’t doing anything. Fine. If words couldn’t get a response, perhaps action would.

When the next strike stung his chest again, Jim sprang into motion. He grabbed the rope from his wrists and curled his body, holding all of his weight voluntarily now, and quickly snapped both feet out in a straight kick. Jim felt his feet connect with what felt like a shoulder and a jaw, and counted that as a win.

He enjoyed the brief moment of respite as the man groaned from a spot below him, until the door opened again, and another set of footsteps stomped into the room. Jim raised his legs again to try and kick his new assailant, but he had no idea where he was coming from this time and was met only with air.

Before he could try again, a solid fist connected with the back of his head, and Jim immediately felt woozy, letting his body fall slack. He felt two pairs of hands on his legs now, but he lacked the strength to do more than kick weakly when he felt something wrap around his ankles.

The hands moved away, and Jim tugged at his legs, finding he couldn’t move them more than a few inches or so. They seemed to have been fastened to the ground somehow. He lamented the additional loss of mobility for a moment, but decided the attack on his captor had been worth it. For now, at least.

A hand wrapped around his neck from behind, the other arm snaking around his front and stroking his chest gently. As the arm pressed his bare back into his captor’s chest, Jim bucked in his grasp. “Get the fuck _off_ of me!” Jim wheezed as the hand around his throat gripped tighter.

His aggressor didn’t respond at all, only continuing to put pressure on his neck and stroking up and down his torso, tracing welt lines with a full splayed palm and fingers.

Jim wished they’d go back to the whip. Pain he could handle. Not this strange combination of restraint and caressing. He felt violated. Unless they escalated though, Jim knew enough not to vocalize such thoughts.

Suddenly, the hand around his throat disappeared, though not before Jim received a mocking double slap to the cheek. The body behind him thankfully moved away, taking the wandering hand with it.

Jim was at a loss.

He had already ruled out ransom, and if what just happened was an indicator, his captors didn’t seem to want anything from him specifically. If they held a grudge over something, someone would have said so by now. Granted, Jim couldn’t think of anything he had done that would be worth kidnapping and torturing him over in the first place, but who knows.

The whip was back, focusing again on his back. He let himself be lost in his thoughts, though a grunt or moan did escape him after every hit.

So while he couldn’t rule out that someone may have some sort of grudge against him, the lack of chatter only confirmed that a grudge wasn’t the reason he was here. And while he’d been felt up a little bit, they hadn’t been overt in their intentions. There hadn’t been any lewd comments, or even heavy breathing or other indicators of sexual intent— _thankfully_ —so luckily he could conclude he hadn’t been kidnapped for that.

And along the same thought, he probably hadn’t been captured for any kind of slave trade. If they had kept him on the wall like when he woke up, then maybe that would have been a possibility. But stringing him up like this and whipping him would be damaging the goods, so to speak.

Of course, everything they had done so far seemed to put him on display—

That was it. He _was_ on display. Pushing his body forward to show off his scars, holding him still and caressing him from behind, making sure he was still on full view in front of that mirror. And thinking about it, along with the brightness of the room, that mirror was probably two-way. Someone must be sitting on the other side of that mirror watching everything. It even explained why they had yanked his blindfold off briefly. They had been showing off his face.

The unmasking of the blindfold confirmed that this wasn’t random. He wasn’t just a sack of meat on display for some psycho. He was chosen specifically for this. He was on display for a specific someone.

Wait.

He was someone’s incentive.

Jim Kirk hadn’t been kidnapped. A specific connection to the real captive had been kidnapped. He just happened to fit the bill. And he was being tortured and displayed for someone they needed information from or to perform some task...

So that begged the question: who was he here for?

Who would it pain to watch _Jim_ be tortured?

Who would _care?_

His first thought was Bones.

Bones was probably the closest person to Jim, and he liked to think the reverse was true as well. Jim couldn’t think of anything specific that Bones would have been captured for, or what kind of information he’d be interrogated for, but the man was a genius in the field of medicine. In fact, he had developed a procedure for neural grafts a couple years earlier, so young in his career. So maybe it would be related to that. But unless Bones had been kidnapped on the way to his hospital shift, he _really_ didn’t think Bones was the one behind the mirror. Of course, Jim had apparently been taken from their dorm room...

“Bones...” Jim’s voice felt heavy on his tongue, muddled by the haze of pain that throbbed throughout his body. “Bones, if it’s you watching this...well,” Jim chuckled, “I guess we’re both gonna miss that lunch date.” Jim fell silent as the fifteenth lash struck his back. He felt blood begin to seep now, collecting at the waistband of his cadet slacks. No doubt they’d turn him around eventually to show _that_ off. The lashes had been spread out over time, which only led creedence to Jim’s theory. The pauses were probably to give the person a chance to end this and answer questions. And each lash meant the captive wasn’t cooperating.

Good.

“Don’t feel bad, Bones,” Jim tried to placate as another lash fell on his back. “You know I’ve done this before, you’ve seen it. And...well, I’m just glad it’s _me_ hanging here and not...more than your bones.” And he meant that. If Bones had to watch someone be tortured, Jim would so much rather it be him than Joanna.

Jim really hoped the kidnappers wouldn’t resort to torturing a child, but who the hell knew what their limits were. And Jim was living proof that children weren't immune to such treatment.

Pike was the next logical choice. More so because he was _definitely_ the kind of person who would have valuable information than because of Jim’s relationship to him. Jim considered the man to be a father figure, but he always had the kernel of doubt whether Pike reciprocated those thoughts. And besides, surely there was someone in Pike’s life closer to him than Jim.

But it was Pike’s last brush with interrogators that made it wholly unlikely Pike was the person behind the glass. He was still in critical condition at Starfleet Medical, so no one would be getting information from him anytime soon. Unless Jim had been unconscious for far longer than he thought, but that was highly unlikely.

“Captain Pike...it’s not you,” Jim sighed. “At least, I really don’t think it is, but if for some reason...I guess that means you’re doing better. Glad to hear it.”

Jim took a deep breath, wincing as the skin on his back stretched. "But you know the drill, sir. You can't tell them anything just to save lil' old me. Hell, I probably deserve this for what I did to your ship."

Jim paused here, and another strike added to the total.

Who else was there?

“I really don’t know who else it could be,” Jim chuckled hollowly. “Who’d care...?”

Jim was used to feeling alone; he had spent most of his adolescence as such, and learned to live with it very early on. But in that moment, it had never hurt worse. That there were so few people in the world who would care if Jim were in pain...that hurt more than the whip.

Of course, there were people Jim knew _should_ have cared for him. If he had grown up with a normal family, in a normal, loving household, he’d be able to add a few more people to that list. The thought of any of his so-called family caring about him now was laughable, and indeed Jim did laugh, with an almost hysterical tinge to it.

“I really hope you didn’t waste your time if Frank’s back there,” Jim grinned wryly, slipping into a grimace as another lash fell. "Frank, you're either getting off to this or asking for a bowl of popcorn. Really hope it's the latter, you fucking asshole.”

Ironically though, Frank was another person who may be worth capturing. Not for information, but Jim wouldn’t be surprised if the man had some unpaid loans or gambling debts. But again, they definitely fucked up if they thought torturing Jim would help their cause at all. They’d have better luck threatening to _stop_ hurting him.

Less humorous, but just as bitter—if not more so—was his mother. While never as openly hostile as Frank had been, her neglect had been so much worse. She took every chance she could to escape to the stars, regardless of the impact it had on her family. She still did, in fact. She knew Jim had enlisted in Starfleet, and yet he hadn’t heard a word from her. Even when the _Enterprise_ had docked after _literally saving the planet,_ no contact.

Jim wasn’t surprised.

“Mom, I guess this would’ve been an obvious choice to a naive observer,” Jim pursed his lips. “Need information from a Starfleet officer, kidnap their kid...you know the drill on that front too.”

Jim shook his head lightly, as much as he could between his raised arms. "I really doubt it's you, Mom, you were on the other side of the quadrant last I heard, but if it is you...well, let’s be honest, you've never given two shits about me before, don't start now."

Jim let his head loll forward after another lash, energy running on fumes. _What was that one, nineteen? Twenty?_

There was really only one other name Jim could think of that wasn’t grasping at straws. Well, even Sam was grasping at straws at this point. Hell, his whole family had been. But while he hadn’t seen or spoken to his mother and Frank in ages, Sam left years even before that. Jim had only been twelve when his brother ran off, and he’d be lying if he didn’t hate Sam a little for that. For months, for _years,_ after Sam left, Jim wondered how different his life would have been had Sam stayed. Or if Sam had taken him along with him.

As such, Jim had no idea what Sam was up to, or if he was even still alive. He could be running a noodle stand on Risa for all he knew.

Jim heaved a deep breath after another _crack._ “If it’s Sam—”

The repetitive crack of pain against his back suddenly halted as a thick arm wrapped around the front of his body and pressed hard into his throat. His body was yanked back, putting extra strain on his arms, but the pressure on his neck didn’t let up. Jim thrashed as he struggled to breathe, and the arm tightened, pulling him into the chest of a large body behind him.

Jim hissed as the open wounds on his back shifted against the rough material behind him. As a foggy haze flooded his head due to lack of oxygen, he picked up on a muffled voice near his ear. It sounded a bit grainy, like it was coming from a small speaker.

_“...reful you don’t snap his neck there, Jar. Just need to shut him up, is all.”_

_How considerate,_ Jim thought idly, spasming one more time before his body fell slack. Before he slipped from consciousness, he heard one last thing.

_“For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna kill him, **stop**!”_

_Sam?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been festering on my computer for literal years. The main thing keeping me from posting it was trying to figure out how I wanted to deal with external POVs. Originally I wanted this to be entirely from Jim's POV, and then I started adding sidebar scenes and distracting myself and it just became a lot. So I decided to revert to my original plan, with the intention of posting a follow-up fic (or two) with the outside POVs. For now, we get to stick with Jim.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Sam, I won, I won!” Jimmy announced as he bounded into their bedroom._

_Sam looked up from his PADD and grinned. “See, I told you. They woulda been crazy not to pick you,” he praised._

_Jimmy beamed as he plopped onto Sam’s bed. It was thanks to Sam that Jimmy had entered the contest in the first place; a science competition aimed at middle schoolers, and Jimmy had been the youngest applicant. But also the smartest, as Sam had insisted, and his project on unorthodox methods of renewable energy conversion had blown the judges away._

_“There’s gonna be a presentation next week at City Hall!” Jimmy explained excitedly. “Mom’s still gonna be here then,” Jimmy’s voice faded into an embarrassed mumble. “Do you...do you think she’d go?”_

_Jimmy looked down to avoid the hard gaze he knew his brother was giving him. “She’d be crazy not to. But I’ll be there no matter what, okay?”_

_Jimmy looked up and took in the earnest look on Sam’s face and nodded. “Okay.”_

_Later that night, the rare family of four sat at a silent dinner table. Winona Kirk was an excellent cook, but she was absent so often that the nice home-cooked meal on their table was a real treat._

_Sure, while Jimmy sat across the table from his mother, she had managed to avoid eye contact all throughout dinner, but the meal was enough for Jimmy to convince himself Winona still cared about him. And while she was home, Frank was always on his best behavior, so that was an added bonus._

_“Mom, guess what?” Jimmy asked brightly. He continued on before Winona’s silence could be interpreted as willful ignorance. “I won the Cochran’s Young Scientists competition! There’s gonna be an award ceremony next Friday at City Hall.”_

_“That’s nice, Jimmy,” Winona replied without looking up from her plate._

_Jimmy’s smile faltered and he looked down at his own plate. Why couldn’t she sound just a little more **proud** of him?_

_“Sam, Commander Thibalt was telling me that the Xeno-Botanical Ship is gonna be docking in Riverside for a couple days for repairs,” Winona said a few minutes later. “She agreed to get us a behind the scenes tour while they’re in port next Friday,” she continued._

_Jimmy’s heart dropped. Sam had been **raving** about the Xeno-Botanical Ship exhibits for months. The ship housed some of the rarest botanical species from all across the Alpha Quadrant. Their nearest scheduled stop was in couple months in New York, and there had been virtually no chance of seeing the exhibit. And now, his mother was offering a free behind the scenes tour. How could Sam pass that up?_

_Even if it was the same day at Jimmy’s award ceremony. Maybe it was at a different time—_

_“Mom, Jimmy’s award ceremony is then,” Sam said, a touch of hardness in his tone._

_“Commander Thibalt is really pulling some strings for us, honey,” Winona said. Jimmy averted his gaze from the table. Why couldn’t she have said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll work it out’ instead of brushing it aside?_

_“’S okay…” Jimmy muttered. Sam had been pining for ages, he wasn’t gonna stop him from taking advantage of an opportunity like this. Though it did hurt that his mother hadn’t even mentioned there would be a scheduling conflict._

_“I’m going to Jimmy’s ceremony,” Sam said resolutely, and Jimmy looked up at him with a cautiously grateful smile._

_“Maybe you should be grateful your mother was willing to go to such lengths to make you happy?” Frank cut in with an icy glare._

_“Maybe Mom should give a shit that her son won a prestigious award,” Sam seethed._

_Winona sent Sam a warning look, “Sam, language—”_

_“If you’re not going, go to the botanical ship by yourself for all I care,” Sam said, openly glaring at her now. “May I be excused?”_

_He barely waited for Winona’s terse nod before storming upstairs. Jimmy sat at the table in silence as Winona and Frank began to bicker over Sam’s attitude, and it wasn’t long before he also asked to be excused. When no one answered, he decided to take that as permission and follow his brother upstairs._

_Jimmy found Sam sitting on his bed again, glaring at his PADD. “’M sorry,” Jimmy muttered._

_Sam’s gaze softened as he looked up. “It’s not your fault, Jimmy,” he assured._

_“Sure it is,” Jimmy argued. “If I hadn’t won that stupid contest, you’d’ve been able to go to the exhibit!”_

_“Hey, it’s not like I was planning on going to it in the first place, nothing will’ve changed,” Sam said, placing his PADD down. “Yeah, it might’ve been cool to check it out, but I really don’t want any of Mom’s artificial affection.”_

_“At least you get that,” Jimmy mumbled, staring down at his feet when he felt his eyes water._

_“Jimmy,” Sam said sharply, and Jimmy immediately glanced up. He beckoned Jimmy towards him with a quick gesture of his hand and Jimmy shuffled over, stopping by the side of the bed. Sam reached out and gripped his shoulders. “Not many eight year olds even know a lick about renewable energy, and you freaking invented an entire new process. Just because Mom didn’t say anything about it, that doesn’t make the achievement any less impressive. I’m proud of you for winning that contest. I am **so** proud of you.”_

* * *

_The rain came down in sheets as Jimmy sprinted towards the front door. His clothes and backpack were already soaked through, and strands of too-long hair caught in his eyes. He wiped them away hurriedly as he reached the porch and door._

_Jimmy tried to scrape off as much mud off his shoes as possible before rushing inside to escape the relentless pounding of cold water._

_The door snapped closed behind him, the wind forcing it shut with a bang before Jimmy could catch it. He would’ve liked to enter the house a bit more stealthily, but it couldn’t be helped now._

_All he had to do was make it upstairs—_

_“The fuck’re you trackin’ all this mud in for?”_

_Shit._

_Jimmy turned to the source of the voice and quickly tried to explain. “It’s raining out—”_

_“No shit,” Frank growled, appearing in the living room doorway. “You think you can trash everything right after I spent so much time getting it clean?” Jimmy knew very well Frank had spent zero time cleaning the house considering he usually made Jimmy or Sam clean, but knew well enough not to point this out._

_Frank began advancing on him, a sickening gleam in his eye that made Jimmy’s skin crawl. Jimmy backed into a wall, stammering out apologies as he bumped against it._

_“I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up, I just—”_

_Jimmy flinched as Frank raised an arm—_

_“He said he’d clean it up, lay off!” Sam shouted, thundering down the stairs._

_Jimmy let out a small sigh of relief, but unfortunately Frank heard and did not take kindly to it. He pushed forward and shoved Jimmy against the wall with his forearm. “You think he’s gonna get you outta this? You got another thing comin’—”_

_The pressure from Frank’s arm disappeared and Jimmy coughed to get his breath back. Backing away, he stumbled into a coffee table as he saw Frank and Sam on the ground, Sam having shoved Frank off of Jimmy._

_Jimmy stared at them in shock until Sam met his eyes and jerked his head towards the stairs. “Jimmy, go—go!”_

_Jimmy didn’t need to be told twice, sprinting towards the stairs without looking back. Tears collected in the corner of his eyes as he heard Sam let out a pained grunt behind him._

_Jimmy sat on his bed in silence for who knew how long. Normally he could hear anything going on downstairs, but the pounding rain drowned out any other sounds. Jimmy hugged his knees to his chest, shivering with cold from the soaked clothes still clinging to him, trails of salt drying on his cheeks._

_The door to his room creaked open and Jimmy leapt to his feet when he saw Sam standing there._

_“Sam!” Jimmy ran up to him but recoiled a bit once he got a closer look. Sam’s left eye had already swollen shut, and blood poured from a clearly broken nose. He seemed to be favoring his right leg, and he hugged his ribs protectively with a bloody, scratched arm. “Sam,” Jimmy moaned. This was his fault._

_“I’m fine, Jimmy,” Sam assured quickly, but the gravel to his voice said otherwise. He moved into the room and locked the door behind him before sitting gingerly on his own bed._

_“You’re **not** fine,” Jimmy insisted, rushing back to his bed to pull out medical supplies. “You—”_

_“Are you okay?” Sam interrupted._

_“Am **I** okay—? He didn’t do anything to me!” Jimmy said angrily, rounding on Sam. “You...you do this every time, he never does much to me, and then you...you always come out of it looking like—this,” Jimmy fumed, gesturing wildly with his hands at Sam. “It’s my fault he does this to you, why can’t you just let him punish me for once and he’ll stop hurting you—”_

_Jimmy flinched as hands landed on his shoulders, and he found himself looking into Sam’s stern eyes...or eye._

_“As long as I’m here, I will **never** let him lay a hand on you,” Sam insisted, raising a hand to cup the back of Jimmy’s neck. “I’m your brother, it’s my job to protect you, and that’s what I’m damn well gonna do, you hear me?”_

_“But **why**?” Jimmy whispered._

_“Because I’m your brother,” Sam repeated. “And I love you, Jimmy. And I would so much rather be in pain than watch **you** be in pain.”_

* * *

_“You know what? Get the hell out of the house. When your mom comes back, she can deal with you.” Jimmy dropped his PADD and ran out of his room._ What’s going on? Is Frank kicking Sam out of the house? He can’t do that! _Jimmy bolted down the stairs and made it to the first floor just as the front door snapped closed. He ran to the door and ripped it open as Frank continued, “Go ahead. Go. Run away. You think I give a damn?”_

Run away? Sam can’t be running away, can he? _But even as he thought it, he saw Sam stalking away from the house with Frank hot on his heels, a backpack hanging from his shoulders._ No...

_“Where’re you going?” Jimmy called out desperately, running to catch up._

_“As far as I can get,” Sam snapped, not halting in his trek._

_“Which won’t be far enough,” Frank said, continuing his tirade over Sam’s shoulder as he walked away. “This is **my** house. Not yours. Not your mother’s.” Frank rounded on Jimmy as though he finally noticed he was following them. “What do you want, Jimmy?”_

_That made Sam stop. He turned and looked at Jimmy, clear anger on his face quickly melting into concern. Jimmy flicked his gaze between Frank and Sam nervously. “I just don’t want my brother to go,” Jimmy admitted._

_“Well what you want doesn’t matter,” Frank sneered, glaring down at him. “You’re no one. And I asked you to wash the car,” he added, taking a step towards Jimmy. Jimmy shuffled back quickly as Frank said, “How many damn times do I need to repeat myself?” Jimmy averted his gaze, and apparently satisfied, Frank turned back to Sam. “Go.”_

_Frank stalked away from them as Sam hurried forward to get between Jimmy and Frank’s retreating figure. Once he was satisfied that Frank was indeed done, the tension in his shoulders visibly faded._

_“Please stay,” Jimmy blurted, and Sam turned back towards him with an almost apologetic glance before anger took over his face again._

_“I can’t take him any more,” Sam said, shaking his head as he looked down the road. “Mom has no idea what he’s like when she’s not around.” His gaze snapped back towards Jimmy. “D’you hear him talking like he’s our dad? That’s not even his car you’re washing, that’s **Dad’s** car.”_

_Sam turned away and began walking again, Jimmy quickly falling into step next to him, though struggling to keep the same pace._

_“You’re gonna be okay, you always are.”_ Because of you! _Jimmy wanted to cry. “You always do everything right, good grades, obeying every stupid order...” Sam threw out a hand and stopped Jimmy, turning to face him._

_“I can’t be a Kirk in this house,” Sam said, his gaze begging Jimmy to understand, and Jimmy averted his eyes. All he understood was that Sam was leaving him. “Show me how to do that, and I’ll stay.”_

How can I show you when I don’t know what that is either? Mom’s never here, and I never knew Dad, you’re the only Kirk I know! _Jimmy wanted to scream at him, but his voice wouldn’t work. He found himself staring into nothing, trying to make a sound, trying to come up with something, anything. Sam was gonna leave, he had to **do** something—!_

_“I’ll see ya.”_

* * *

When Jim woke up again, there was no delusion over where he was. No moment of brief respite where his mind forgot where he was and what situation he was in—which Jim definitely prefered to avoid—or moment of confusion about how he ended up there. He immediately felt the abrasive wall texture dig into his flayed back, the buildup of lactic acid in his arms, and the throbbing pain at the base of his head. As he shifted his head and swallowed, he became aware of the pain around his throat.

Only one thing baffled Jim as he came into full awareness: what was Sam doing here?

He knew without a doubt that had been Sam he had heard. It may have been years since he heard his voice, but Jim had spent a significant portion of his childhood listening to that voice calm him before bed, or soothe him as he woke up from a nightmare. He’d know that voice no matter his level of consciousness in a heartbeat.

Jim tested his mobility again. His hands were still tied above him, and the movement from that check cost him as pain shot through his arms and shoulders. He moved his legs and found the added restraints were still on his ankles. He tried to keep his torso stationary, but his little mobility tests still shifted his back against the rough wall, and he hissed at the contact.

As he tried to get comfortable—with little success—Jim went back to his earlier question. And it was one Jim knew he couldn’t answer.

What was Sam doing here?

Jim had no idea what Sam had done with his life after leaving Riverside. By the time Jim had access to their trust fund, Sam had ceased withdrawing funds for two years. Jim had assumed that meant Sam either had his own source of income, or he had died. As much as he resented Sam for leaving, Jim had always hoped for the former. It was nice to have confirmation on that, at least.

But what kind of life had Sam lived that led to being captured and using his younger brother to try and make him cooperate? Jim knew Sam wasn’t Starfleet, he would have heard of that from someone by now. There was always the possibility that Sam had run into financial trouble like Jim had thought of Frank earlier, but those chances were slim considering the lack of trust fund activity. If Jim was short for cash, that would be the first thing he’d drain.

One thing Jim knew about Sam was that his favorite subject in high school had been biology. He had tested into the senior year advanced course as a sophomore, and while life science wasn’t something Jim was particularly good at, Sam had still shared some of his material with him. It was pretty interesting to Jim, but Sam had been enthralled by it.

So maybe Sam was a biologist now. That really didn’t cut down professions a lot, it could be anything from marine biology to genetics to botany to xenobiology. Hell, Sam could’ve become a doctor.

This really didn’t narrow down why Sam would be kidnapped, and subsequently Jim.

“Sam...” Jim muttered, trailing off when he realized he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know whether or not Sam could even hear what he was saying right now. But he might as well try... “I dunno if you’re even hearing this right now.”

Jim chewed on his lip, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Sam that he could take this, that he’d be able to withstand whatever these assholes threw at him. He wanted to tell Sam to not give up. He wanted to tell Sam not to give these bastards whatever it was they wanted. He wanted to—

“Why’d you leave?” It wasn’t what he meant to say, but Jim supposed he wanted to know that too.

He rested his head on the wall behind him, chewing his lip again as he wondered where he wanted to go with that line of thought.

“I wondered where you went,” Jim said eventually. “I wondered how different my life would’ve been if you stayed. Or if you brought me with you.” Jim smiled wryly. “Frank would’ve liked that, he’d’ve been able to sell Dad’s car then...”

Jim chuckled a bit at that memory. “He still made me wash the car when you left. _‘Asked me,’_ whatever,” Jim muttered, shaking his head. “Had to wash the outside _and_ inside of the thing. So I was cleaning, and..and he left the keys in the visor, and they just...dropped into my lap. I dunno what I was thinking; it was fun at first, a rush, y’know? ‘Hey, Johnny!’” Jim laughed again, his voice breaking a bit as he let his head fall forward.

“God, that movie sucked,” Jim continued wistfully. “You made me watch it like twenty times.” Probably more than that, if Jim was honest. It was a classic, _Ride Off the Moon,_ from some time in the 2170s, and it was one of Sam’s favorites. Jim didn’t care for it so much, but when you’re young and gullible, the older sibling typically bullies the right to the remote. And if the only part Jim really remembered was the main character hotwiring a car and shouting ‘Hey, Johnny!’ to his brother as he sped past, well, it made for a great reference.

“I dunno if you could tell from the distance, but I drove it off a cliff. Dad’s car,” Jim clarified, though Sam probably knew. If he was listening to this at all. “I don’t regret that. I’d rather the car sit at the bottom of a quarry than Frank make a profit off it. Sometimes I regret not going with the car though...” Jim admitted.

“Why’d you leave me there, Sam?” he asked, hating himself when his voice cracked. “I could’ve...I would’ve been fine if you brought me with you. I can survive on my own. I know that for a fact now...” Jim scowled, shifting his head to lean against the wall again.

“I kinda became a big brother for a while. For this group of kids. I...I dunno, taking care of them reminded me of you. And I think I understand a little why you never contacted me after you left. After...afterwards, I couldn’t...I couldn’t bring myself to contact any of them. The ones that weren’t...”

Jim swallowed thickly. He remembered with torturous clarity the delight Kodos had taken in informing him of the capture of some of his kids. He never specified how many he found, but the loss of any of them had been an unbearable blow. It was part of why Jim had never reached out to any of them; if he never got confirmation of who Kodos had killed, he could convince himself that all of them had survived. Even if he knew it wasn’t true...

“Fuck, I don’t even know how many of them are still alive. I dunno if they know _I’m_ alive either. I think I prefer that, does that make me awful?”

Jim wasn’t sure why he bothered asking. He already knew the answer.

“I won’t lie, Sam, my life would’ve been so much different if you’d been in it,” Jim said after a long pause. “And it’s pretty fucking impossible for it to’ve been worse, so I’m gonna assume you being there would’ve made things better. Even if just a little bit.” Jim let out a long sigh.

"I dunno, Sam. A lot of shit happened when you left. And I might be able to forgive you for all of it eventually. But this...?”

Jim paused and took a deep breath, because he knew his next words would end the relative peace he had been left in the last several minutes. He lifted his head and stared head on towards where he knew the mirror was.

"Make this worth it. Don't tell them a goddamn thing. I won't forgive you for that."

The door to Jim’s room opened with a deceptively calm _swoosh,_ and footsteps rushed towards him as he felt the metal ring lurch into motion. The ring was still moving when a fist buried itself in his gut, and Jim wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him, unable to release a scream as his back scraped against the wall. He tried to inhale several times without success as he found his weight supported by his wrists again.

“Too late, bastard,” Jim sniped when he got his breath back, and he was immediately rewarded with a harsh whack to his back. It felt like a thin baton of some kind. Small, but still heavy. And still painful, especially with his already injured back. “I already said it. You can’t rewind— _argh!”_ Jim cried, the baton landing on the side of his ribcage. He was fairly sure a rib had cracked on that one, if not broken completely.

Jim held his tongue to catch his breath, and in the silence he heard a spark followed by a faint hum. _Fuck..._ There was no way to brace himself for what was coming, it would tense his muscles regardless.

“I can take this,” Jim insisted quickly, though he didn’t know if he was trying to reassure Sam or himself. “I can ta— _aaargh!”_ The tip of the baton dug into this side, and Jim felt his muscles lock—and, oh yeah, that was a broken rib. He couldn’t close his mouth and thus couldn’t stop the scream that escaped. Perhaps this was the trade off; why they switched to electricity. If he wanted to talk to Sam, Sam would also have to hear him scream. Or he could keep his mouth shut, and be able to trap any scream inside of him and spare Sam from the sound.

Decisions.

The next prod caught him while he was deciding, and when the current locked his jaw closed, he almost figured he’d keep his mouth shut for the rest of it. But that would be letting them win. And if he stopped talking now, Sam might think he was giving up.

But as another prod shocked him, Jim had to level with himself. He wasn’t giving up now, but if this continued for however long it needed to...Jim couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t break. He had broken before, and while he wasn’t a thirteen year old kid anymore and could take more, he still had a limit. And he had no idea how long it would take for someone to find it.

The Admirals— _zap_ —would definitely notice he missed the meeting that morning, but the question remained whether they would care enough to look for him. They’d complain, and maybe give him a demerit, or maybe take the chance to kick him out, but at least they’d still need to find him to do that.

Bones would look. He’d wait at Dunaly’s for an hour— _zap_ —and return to their room when Jim didn’t show up. At first that wouldn’t be a red flag, but he knew Bones would start to feel uneasy if he still couldn’t contact Jim by then. And if Jim’s comm wasn’t in his pocket, perhaps they’d left that behind in his room. Hopefully there and not ditched in a dumpster somewhere. The Admirals would probably send someone to look for him (and serve him a demerit) and Bones would know something was up by then. And perhaps the kidnappers had left some indication— _zap_ —of his abduction, may it have been intentional or otherwise. Probably not intentional, considering Jim wasn’t the one they cared about. But anything like forgetting to make the bed or something, Bones would pick up on that.

Of course, Jim had no idea— _zap_ —how long he’d been here. He didn’t know how long he had been unconscious initially, or how long he had been out after being strangled.

But Sam probably had an idea. If efforts were being focused on Jim, Sam was probably well enough off to have a better sense of the passage of time. So if he could let Sam know— _zap_ —that help was theoretically on the way, maybe that would strengthen his resolve.

And Jim needed to tell Sam— _zap_ —to ignore his breaking point if he did reach it.

This was not something Jim ever thought he’d need to prepare himself for again.

“I’m not gonna...” Jim paused, cringing when he heard the volume of the electric hum rise. _Great._ “Look, I’m in my—in my right mind right now and I’m telling you not—not to give in to whatever they’re asking just to—just to make this stop.”

And that would be the hardest thing for Sam, just letting this happen knowing he had a means to stop it. But those means were unacceptable. Jim had no idea what these people wanted from Sam, but if they were willing to torture someone for it, the information or whatever must be important.

“That might...I might be changing my tune soon—soon enough, so I’m telling you now...if I start—if I start asking for you to stop this...Sam, you—you gotta ignore me, okay? You gotta just let it happen. People know I’m missing, someone will find us. I just—I don’t know I’m gonna last that long. But you’ve gotta, Sam...you gotta...”

Jim’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Speaking through the shocks had been difficult, but he managed. He just hoped Sam could understand what he was saying. And that he _listened._

The shocks seemed to have stopped for now. Jim could feel heat radiating from his back, but whether it was from electrical burns or infection setting in, he had no idea. Ideally, it was just his body trying to speed up the healing process, but he didn’t think he was that lucky.

He didn’t know what they had planned next for him, but Jim was not excited to find out. They were only going to escalate, and Jim already felt like he was holding on by a thread. He was tired, he was hurting, he was thirsty, he was hungry...he couldn’t take much more of this. And nothing he said was going to make it stop. He had given away any potential leverage he had when he told Tom to move everyone to a new location he didn’t know about—

Wait, no.

Jim shook his head in frustration, trying to bring himself back to the present. Different time, different situation. Just really fucking similar methods...

A sponge, or some other kind of soaked material, pressed against his chest and began rubbing slow circles against his skin. _What the actual fuck...?_ His captors seemed to back to the weird affectionate caressing. Were they bathing him now? Jim grit his teeth. As uncomfortable as it was, it was still a step up from whips and shocks.

The sponge trailed south, lightly rubbing down his stomach and sweeping to the side by his hip bone. He could feel the waistband of his pants soak up the stray liquid as it collected, the liquid trickling down his body as he was coated in whatever it was—it felt like water at least—but the sponge drew most of his attention.

It shifted more to his sides, and just before it reached the first wound, the scent of alcohol wafted up towards Jim’s nose. The old-fashioned rubbing alcohol used to clean wounds.

_Oh no—_

It _burned._

Jim couldn’t even attempt trying to muffle the sound that escaped from him. He screamed as the sponge continued its torturous motions, still lightly circling and pushing more of the alcohol into open wounds. The friction from the otherwise soft sponge tore at any cuts that had had the chance to coagulate, and more wounds opened to allow the alcohol in.

Jim thrashed in his bindings, and a strong hand pressed against his chest to steady him as the sponge continued. Tears soaked his blindfold as he fought against the pressure, trying to do _anything_ that would get him away from the pain. There’s nothing else to _tell,_ he doesn’t _know_ anything, why won’t they just _stop?_

_‘Tell me where the kids are—’_

_‘The...guard did a very professional job on my back—’_

_‘Just hold on, Jimmy! We’ll get you out—Jimmy!’_

_‘You think he’s gonna get you outta this? You got another thing comin’—’_

_‘I...don't care if you hit the broadside of a barn, just—’_

_‘Worthless runt, I dunno why y’r mother deals with ya—’_

_‘I’ve been attacked... Security...security—’_

_‘You can end this all right now if you just tell me—’_

“Fuck—stop, _please!”_ Jim cried, still jerking in the man’s grasp. “I don’t know anything, you gotta know that by now, just stop!” Why couldn’t they realize he didn’t know where they were hiding? They were trying to beat information out of him that he just didn’t have. Maybe they were enjoying this, Frank always enjoyed it...

Sam always saved him from Frank before it got this bad. Where was he?

“Help—fuck, just make it stop—please, just—Sam, _help me!”_

Miraculously, the sponge stopped. The alcohol continued to burn, but the sponge had finally stopped creating the extra friction. Jim felt his body tremble from pain and exertion, and the terrible mix of blood, sweat, and alcohol dripping down his back.

Sponge, alcohol...Jim grunted in frustration. He was still hanging in a goddamn cell, it was 2258, not 2246, or earlier…hell, he didn’t even recognize some of those memories, Tom had never called him Jimmy...

“I’m okay,” Jim wheezed, though even he could tell it sounded more self-assuring than anything. “I’m okay, I’m okay...” He felt a sharp edge dig into his chest, just below his collarbone. As it broke the skin, the blade burned as much as it sliced—it must have been coated in something—and Jim let out an involuntary whimper. “I’m—not...”

Jim lost track of how long they carved at his skin. Time no longer existed. The only thing in Jim’s world was agony. His body was on fire, his back a roaring inferno with trails of flame crisscrossing over his chest. For the first time, Jim was glad he was blindfolded. The pain was bad enough, but he could only imagine he looked worse, and he didn’t actually think his imagination was giving the tableau justice.

Jim wished his body would take mercy on him. He would have hoped that the pain from his wounds would be enough, but no, his body insisted on reminding him that his wrists and shoulders did _not_ appreciate holding his body weight for extended periods of time. His hands felt stiff and swollen, and even attempting to hold his own weight was met with even more pain.

A new sensation took over on his chest, and it took a moment for Jim to realize what it was, but when he did— _fuck._

Fingers were digging into the new cuts, and— _oh God_ —Jim felt disgusted. Fuck, now he wished they’d go back to the caressing because _this_...this felt wrong. This felt like a physical representation of how Frank had always made him feel, just by looking at him. Painful and invasive and violating and—

Jim’s body finally took pity on him, and the pain faded into nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

As Jim hovered on the edge of consciousness, he felt a hand carding lightly through his hair. During his last waking hours, he would have felt sickened at the touch, but there was something about Bones's ministrations that was inherently soothing.

And it was definitely Bones's hand. His fingers would massage in circles, putting more pressure as they passed against the grain of his hair, and letting up as they moved along with it. And—

Wait, Bones was touching his head. _Bones_ was...

Jim's eyes fought, tearing up at the flood of brightness from the small sliver of light allowed through for the first time in what felt like forever. A pathetic groan escaped him as he tried to force his eyes to cooperate, and he felt the hand in his hair still. Jim would never call it a whine, but the small sound he made in protest apparently was enough to convince Bones to resume his motions.

"Welcome back, darlin'."

“Bones,” Jim tried to say, but his voice cracked horribly on the attempt, launching him into an uncomfortable coughing fit.

“Sssh, don’t talk yet,” Bones soothed as he reached to his side, hand never leaving Jim’s scalp. As Jim’s vision started to sharpen and his coughs tapered off, he felt a styrofoam rim against his lips as Bones said, “Here, this’ll help.”

Jim tilted his head forward and welcomed the cool sensation of ice chips on his tongue. The ice melted slowly, cool water trickling down his throat, and Jim sighed in relief. He tilted his head to the side and gave Bones a tired grin, which Bones returned with a small watery smile.

“Ya really scared me there, kid,” Bones admitted, his southern drawl thicker than normal. “I can’t help ya if you don’t gimme a chance.”

Jim furrowed his brow. Sure, he’d been through hell—and his mind once again helpfully left in every single detail—but it hadn’t been _that_ bad, had it? Less than a day, he’d done worse before...

“Your body almost shut down before I could get to you,” Bones explained to answer Jim’s silent question. “Exhaustion, dehydration, blood loss, infection, you name it. The human body can only take so much, Jim.”

“And it did take a lot, didn’t it,” Jim croaked with false humor. The fingers in his hair tightened a bit, and Jim murmured a quiet apology. It was too soon to be joking about this. “How’d you find me?”

“The guys who grabbed you stole one of the Starfleet Medical shuttles and snuck you out on that,” Bones explained. “Once we found out you were missing and figured out how they smuggled you out, we managed to track it down. I convinced the rescue team to let me come with them, I had a feeling...” Bones shook his head, looking down at the bed. Jim reached a hand out weakly and Bones luckily got the message and grabbed it with his free hand. Jim gave it a small squeeze, trying to convey all of his gratitude and support in the simple gesture; Bones knew him well enough to know.

“On top of whatever those bastards put you through, you were also sleep-deprived from the last couple weeks before anything even happened,” Bones continued gruffly, keeping a hold of Jim’s hand while still massaging his scalp. “And you definitely hadn’t fully recovered from the Narada Incident...you were already on your last leg. Your immune system wasn’t in any state to fight off infection or injury.”

“I didn’ eat after you told me to, ‘m sorry,” Jim said groggily, and Bones’s fingers tightened in his hair again.

“It’s okay, Jim.”

“‘m sorry I didn’ make it to Dun’ly’s either,” Jim mumbled, rapidly feeling his strength fade.

“It’s okay, Jim,” Bones repeated. “I’m just glad we got you back.”

“Me too,” Jim sighed. “Knew you would.” Jim decided not to vocalize that he didn’t think they’d be on time.

As Jim’s eyelids began to droop, he heard Bones’s reassurance that he should listen to his body and rest. But just as he faded from consciousness, he guiltily realized he hadn’t once asked if Sam was okay…

* * *

“...false hope and…forgive you...burned way too...”

As Jim started to wake once again, he felt the familiar hand in his hair again as broken conversation filtered through his ears. As he listened, he started to catch more and more of the words.

“...worried you are right now, I think he’d be willing to at least listen to what you have to say.”

“I don’t deserve that even.” _Sam. That...that’s definitely Sam. That means he’s okay, right?_ Jim tried to move or at the very least open his eyes, but his whole body felt like lead all of a sudden. As much as he wanted to see Sam, he also didn’t want to dispel the illusion he might have created for himself. Maybe he’d been imagining Sam’s voice all along, as a coping mechanism to get through the beating he’d received.

“Maybe you don’t, but I think that’s up to Jim to decide.”

Jim dipped his head closer to the hand stroking his head. Bones was here, he’d know what was real and what wasn’t. And Bones wouldn’t be talking to the same figment of Jim’s imagination, would he?

Wait, what was he supposed to be deciding?

“What’m I doin’?” Jim slurred, forcing the words through heavy lips.

“You’re _resting,”_ came the immediate response, and Jim grinned at Bones’s snap.

“I’ve had enough’a that, don’cha think, Bones?” Jim said, eyes finally cooperating as they fluttered open.

“Never enough,” Bones said, the same tired face looking down at him just as he remembered from his last waking moment. “How’re you feeling?”

“My throat feels less like sandpaper now,” Jim said honestly, swallowing to prove his observation and inadvertently triggering a coughing fit. A cup of ice chips appeared in front of him again and he accepted it gratefully as the coughs died down, the melting chips providing welcome relief on his raw throat. “Okay, so still not great,” Jim admitted, “but it’s better. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Jim froze.

There was no denying it any longer. That was Sam’s voice, and Jim was certain he wasn’t imagining it this time. He was here, in the same room, and he had just handed Jim a styrofoam cup of ice. He was physically here, all Jim had to do was turn to his left—

The man sitting by his bed was not who he was expecting. Well, it was, but it was nothing how Jim had pictured him. Granted, it was hard to age a sixteen year old thirteen years in your head. Maybe it was the facial hair that was throwing him off. Days of dark blond scruff that was too long at this point to be considered stubble covered his pale face, and dark bags accented his red-rimmed hazel eyes. A deep, hardly treated cut stood out over his left brow, and Jim could see a patch of yellow and purple peeking out from his shirt collar.

As much as Jim needed the visual confirmation that Sam was in fact real, Sam seemed to have a similar look on his face, as if _he_ thought _Jim_ might disappear at any moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, words hovering on the tip of his tongue, but every time he almost worked up the nerve to speak, he settled back again. It was a constant shift of almost imperceptible changes in Sam’s posture, but over the years Jim had become an expert in reading body language.

When the silence stretched on with neither party willing to make the first move, Bones let out a sigh and stood up. “I’ll let you two talk, you look like you need to. I meant what I said earlier,” he said, looking straight at Sam with a hard glare. Bones didn’t elaborate, but Sam seemed to get the message and gave a stiff nod. Jim sent Bones a curious glance, but rather than respond to it, he instead said, “If you need _anything,_ just press the call button.”

“Yeah, Bones,” Jim said indulgently. Bones gave him another critical look before nodding once and leaving the brothers alone in the room.

Sam seemed to be stuck in his cyclical pattern of trying and failing to start talking, so Jim decided to open with his leftover guilt of forgetting to ask after his brother. “So...you alright?”

“Am _I_ alright?” Sam asked incredulously, finally snapping out of his stupor. “I’m not the one who’s lying in a hospital bed right now. Where do you get off asking if _I’m_ alright—?”

“Learned it from you,” Jim said flatly.

Sam cut himself off mid-rant, glaring at Jim. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither was leaving me, but hey, life’s not fair.” Once again, Jim’s feelings got to his mouth before his mind could filter them, but in that moment, Jim didn’t care, even as Sam’s face crumpled. If Sam got even a taste of what Jim had felt when he left him behind in Riverside, that was A-okay with him.

“Jimmy, let me explain.”

“Explain what? Explain why you left? You did that well enough at the time,” Jim said, sending Sam a hard glare. “And how was I supposed to convince you to stay, huh? Where do you get off putting that on _me?_ It was your decision to leave and then you had to make me think that I could’ve prevented it if I came up with the right words, but I couldn’t, and I blamed myself for that for _years—”_

Sam gaped at him, “It was _never_ your fault I left—”

 _“‘Show me how to do that, and I’ll stay,’”_ Jim quoted, and Sam visibly wilted in front of him. “How the fuck was I supposed to do that?”

“Shit, Jimmy, I—I never meant to…” Sam rubbed his face forcefully with his palms before looking up at Jim with an almost pleading look on his face. “I was angry, I was sick of Frank, I felt suffocated and I had to get out...there was nothing you could’ve done. I did _not_ leave because of anything you did or didn’t do.”

“If I wasn’t part of the problem, then why didn’t you ever contact me after you left?” Jim demanded angrily. _“‘I’ll see ya,’_ as if you were planning on talking to me again, but instead it’s like you dropped off the face of the planet.”

 _“I_ didn’t, _you_ did,” Sam muttered, seemingly to himself, but Jim still picked up the words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam grimaced, rubbing his face again. “After I left, you were supposed to wash Dad’s car.”

Jim snorted. “And then I took it joyriding instead and crashed it, I remember. Vividly. What’s your point?”

"Jimmy...I heard everything you said in that cell, and...you asked if I remember seeing Dad's car. I do. I just didn't see _you."_

Jim scowled, turning his head into the pillow. That was stupid. If Sam could see the car, he must have heard Jim yell as he drove by. He knew Jim was driving the car. What did it matter if he couldn’t see Jim when he could see the car clearly—

He could see the car, but he couldn’t see Jim.

He could see the car, as it went off a cliff, but he couldn’t see Jim, who had jumped to safety—

“You thought I went with the car,” Jim whispered, face relaxed in awe as this revelation passed through him. He turned his head back towards Sam in disbelief. “You didn’t know I jumped. You thought...you thought I was _dead._ This _whole time?”_

“I can’t keep in contact with a dead person,” Sam replied softly, looking at the floor.

“You ass,” Jim blurted. When he saw Sam wince at the accusation, he cursed his lack of filter and hurried to continue, “You’ve been blaming yourself for my death this whole time, haven’t you?”

Sam looked up with an incredulous gaze. “Did you, or did you not, take Dad’s car for a joyride because of what I said to you?”

Jim’s mouth twisted. “No...” he trailed off unconvincingly.

Sam snorted, “The first thing you did after I left was drive a car off a cliff. Are you really gonna try and convince me the reason you did that _wasn’t_ because of what I said?”

 _‘I can’t be a Kirk in this house. Show me how to do that and I'll stay.’_ Jim winced and averted his gaze. “Well, not _only.”_ When Sam didn’t respond, Jim continued, “I didn’t plan on crashing the car, I just panicked when the police showed up. I just...I was sick of it too, Sam. I was sick of Mom refusing to look at me, I was sick of Frank looking at me like...” Jim shook his head with a sigh. “I wanted to leave too.”

 _“Jimmy.”_ Sam’s voice sounded so distraught with that one word that Jim turned his face towards him again, and found Sam’s face slackened in horror. “Frank...tell me...tell me he didn’t—”

 _“No,”_ Jim said hurriedly, and Sam seemed to relax a bit. “I mean, maybe he wanted to, but he...he was more furious about the car than anything, and he sent me away after that. By the time I got back, he...well, I didn’t give him a reason to be near me.”

“What do you mean he sent you away?” Sam asked slowly.

Jim bit his lip as he turned his face into the pillow. “He sent me off planet for a while,” Jim admitted after a long pause.

“Why?”

Jim closed his eyes in quiet relief that Sam had asked ‘Why?’ instead of ‘Where?’ and let a small breath out through his nose. He realized he was spilling a lot of information to Sam, but Sam had been his confidante, his only source of comfort and relief for years, and now that he had that back, he quickly found himself relying on it again. But Tarsus IV wasn’t something he felt ready to share with anyone. He had barely gotten the words out to Bones, and that was after a very emotional progression of events (and copious amounts of alcohol). Sure, this certainly counted as similar circumstances, but he was dumping enough on Sam right now. Enough wounds were being torn open, and Jim didn’t think he could handle the infection of Tarsus IV on top of it all.

“Mostly ‘cause of the car thing, I think,” Jim mumbled. “I was gone for maybe a year and a half.”

“How soon after I..?” _after I left,_ Sam didn’t seem able to finish.

“A day maybe?” Jim’s nose scrunched up as he tried to remember. “It could’ve been a couple days, I really don’t remember it so well.” Jim’s eyes snapped open when he realized the connotations of that, and at the pinched look on Sam’s face, Jim continued quickly, “Not because I—ah hell. Fine, yeah, I was unconscious,” Jim grumbled when Sam glared at his attempt to fib. Some things never change.

“How could he get away with that?” Sam asked, face livid.

“Pretty easily considering I wasn’t awake to contradict him, and when I got to where he sent me, I...well, I liked it at first. So I decided to stay. I made friends there, school was great, I was enjoying myself for the first time in ages. Then,” Jim paused with a heavy sigh, “well, eventually I had to leave, and I got stuck with Frank again until I was 16. Then I bounced, too. Didn’t get very far, though. I took a job at Gobson Repairs and the old man rented the top unit to me.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?” Sam asked tentatively.

“Who, Gobbles or Frank?”

“Frank,” Sam clarified, lips twitching at the nickname.

“Nope,” Jim said, popping the ‘p’ with a wry grin. “Not very heartbroken about that either. You?”

“Not since...yeah.”

Deciding to give him a break, Jim gave him a different line of conversation. “Well, what about you, what happened after you...left?” Jim finished lamely.

Stifling a wince—and man, wasn’t that level of self-hatred weird to see on someone other than himself—Sam said, “Walked to the Riverside shuttle port, snuck onto the first one I could, ended up in Boston. Started, heh—” Sam chuckled a bit, “I started attending one of the local high schools, showed up at the beginning of the semester, they assumed it was a clerical error and just added my name to the rosters. Took a page out of your book, hacked the system and added my grades from RHS so I didn’t have to start my credits from scratch. Got a degree at Harvard, then went to UC Berkeley for grad school. One of my professors gave me a heads up about a job opening on Europa, and I’ve been doing research there ever since.”

The pair sat in silence for a moment, the hum of hospital equipment the only sound filling the room. Despite the chaos Jim’s life had been thrown into following Sam’s departure, it seemed as though Sam had found his footing fairly quickly.

Jim’s life had hardly gone the way of a cookie-cutter education. Tarsus had had quite the accelerated educational program, but that was all for naught when it was cut abruptly short. Jim found himself behind in high school by the time he returned to Earth, but had caught up to his age group by the time graduation rolled around. After that, it was a few years of irregular travel while taking online courses at the University of Iowa, culminating in that fateful bar mishap in his hometown that sent him on the path of his father.

“Why’d they take you in the first place?” Jim asked finally. _“Who_ took you?”

Sam was silent for a moment as though contemplating how to answer. “I’m a biologist,” he said eventually.

“Surprise,” Jim cut in with a grin to lighten the mood. It worked; Sam gave him a small smile before continuing.

“I specialize in genetically modified foods,” he said, “and how they affect the human body compared to naturally grown food. Basically so crops can be grown on non-native planets without ill-effects to the current ecology of the planet, while retaining their nutritional value.”

Jim stiffened a bit at the answer but otherwise didn’t make a comment. Technology like that would have been so useful just over a decade ago.

“I was captured by an agricultural company who wanted a formula I’ve been developing,” Sam explained. “I’m producing it for the public market, but if a private company got ahold of it and monopolized it, they could make a fortune. But it would be way too expensive for new colonies to afford. Places experiencing famine don’t have the economy to sustain a cost like that. They’d need the aid to be publicly funded. Millions of lives were on the line, I couldn’t give them that,” Sam finished solemnly.

“So when you didn’t talk, they needed something else,” Jim continued.

“Your face has been everywhere. They made the connection easily,” Sam said, eyes downcast. “Mom would’ve been an option in their minds but she’s too far away. You were right on Earth, and they knew exactly where to find you. I’ve been so busy I’ve basically been living under a rock, but it...it’s so fucked up that they knew you were alive before I did—”

“It’s not your fault,” Jim said, reaching out to grab Sam’s hand. “And hey, I knew it had to be something big for them to need an interrogation incentive, but after hearing what I was actually being pounded on for? Hell, I couldn’t pick a better cause if I tried,” Jim said earnestly.

“I dunno, saving Earth is pretty worth it,” Sam said with a small smile, giving Jim’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, well, I got beat up for that, too,” Jim shrugged with a smirk. It quickly faded into a frown, however, as a thought occurred to him. If they felt the need to resort to torturing someone else to pull information from Sam, what had they done to him that hadn’t worked? Surely they didn’t start with Jim... “How long did they have you for?”

“About a week maybe,” Sam shrugged, visibly faking his nonchalance for Jim’s sake. Jim let him; he’d been beating himself up enough, there was no need for Jim to draw those memories out of him. He had a good enough idea as it was. “I was on my way to visit my partner on the crop formula, my shuttle got hijacked and here we are. It’s a miracle I didn’t bring Aurelan with me.”

“Aurelan?”

“My...” Sam paused, face paling a bit as he began to ramble, “oh God, you could’ve been at the wedding and everything! _Fuck,_ this is messed up, I’m sorry—”

“Woah, hey,” Jim said, squeezing Sam’s hand this time. “It’s not your fault, alright? Dead people can’t show up to weddings, that would’ve been a shit invitation to send.”

“I invited Mom, but that might as well’ve been inviting a dead person,” Sam grumbled.

“Well, if Mom knew about it and didn’t tell me, that makes it her fault, not yours, right?” Jim said placatingly. “So, you’re married?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded with a smile. “She’s amazing. You’d get along with her great, I think. Now that you’re awake, she’ll want to come visit probably, that alright?”

“Of course, yeah,” Jim nodded. “Gotta meet the in-laws and all,” he grinned. “Is she it or are there little Sam Jr’s running around, too?”

“Almost. But no George the Thirds though, Rey vetoed that,” Sam chuckled.

“Wait, really? You’ve got a baby on the way?” Jim asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Yeah, she’s seven months along now, hard to believe,” Sam said, rubbing his neck.

“Wow. I guess I’m gonna be an uncle then,” Jim said, still processing the additions to the family.

It was surreal, thinking of how much had changed since the last time they saw each other. Sam, the wild rebel, now settled down with a nice career with his wife and a child on the way, and Jim, the quiet goody-two shoes, now with a rebellious streak of his own but also coming into his own with Starfleet. And it was nice that after all this time, they both finally had someone who was waiting for them to come home. Jim had been lucky to have Bones right by his side when he woke up, but Sam…

“So you’ve called her and talked to her and everything? Let her know you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I borrowed a comm from someone in the waiting room,” Sam confirmed. “Rey had to remind me to call Tom, though.”

Now Jim was lost again, “Who’s Tom?”

“My partner on the formula research,” Sam explained. “He’s got a personal interest in the specific study I was doing and reached out. Brilliant man, too. About your age, I’d say.” Sam grimaced then, glancing away. “Poor guy had a fit when he found out my shuttle had been hijacked. Apparently this wasn’t the first time a friend of his had been captured for...less than altruistic reasons.”

Jim snorted at the sardonic phrasing; Sam returned an unimpressed glare.

“Hey, I think I’ve earned the right to morbid humor,” Jim said facetiously, gesturing to his bandaged body with a stately wave. “And at least he knows you’re alright. What about his friend?”

Sam looked away again. He paused long enough that Jim wondered if he would even answer, and he almost gave up in expecting a response when Sam sighed. “He never found out. He and his other friends never found out what happened. He talks about it more than I’d expect, honestly, but I think it helps him. Dr. Leighton—”

Jim inhaled sharply, subsequently choking on his saliva, and his body folded in on itself as he lapsed into another coughing fit. His free hand flailed wildly for a cup of water, and a cup appeared magically in his hand. He drank greedily, trying to settle his throat and breathe again. When the fit settled down, Jim took large, gulping gasps of air to replenish his lost oxygen. Sam was still holding his hand, thumb moving in reposeful circles, while his other hand hovered awkwardly by Jim’s shoulder, torn between wanting to give added reassurance but also wanting to avoid disturbing his injuries.

“Woah now, you alright?” Sam asked as Jim’s breathing normalized, but Jim remained silent, still holding Sam’s hand in a bone-breaking grip.

Dr. Leighton, with a personal interest in a formula that would help colonies in famine, about Jim’s age, Tom Leighton, _Tom—_

_Tom’s alive. Oh God, Tom’s alive. Kodos lied, he never found them. He made it out, he survived. And the others are still alive, too? Evaline, Gori, Kevin—Kodos **lied**. Fuck, it was all worth it. Everything, it was worth it—_

“Jimmy!” Sam’s sharp voice snapped him out of thoughts like it had so many times in the past. Jim took another large gasp of air to calm himself and was ridiculously grateful that Sam was still holding his hand, grounding him.

“Tom’s alive,” Jim whispered, still in awe of this recent revelation. He looked up at Sam, who looked severely worried about his current state, and let out an almost hysterical chuckle. “He’s really alive.”

“Yeah...” Sam said carefully, trying to catch up with Jim’s train of thought. “You know him? Why’d you think he was—” Jim saw the exact moment everything clicked in Sam’s mind, and his good mood abruptly faded. Jim wasn’t the only genius in the Kirk family after all, of course Sam would put the pieces together.

Jim tried to stem the flow of thoughts, but it was already too late. “Don’t—”

 _“Damn it,_ Jimmy,” Sam breathed, voice broken. “Fuck, I—it’s my fault, you never should’ve been sent there, I never should’ve run off—”

“Okay, _stop,”_ Jim said firmly, and thankfully Sam closed his mouth with an audible click. “Jesus fuck, you’ve become the most self-deprecating person I’ve ever met, and considering I’ve known myself my whole life, that’s saying something,” Jim tried to joke, but Sam sent him a glare.

“You don’t need to try and sugar coat this,” Sam said in a hard tone. “I know how you feel about it.”

Jim swallowed guiltily. Sam had mentioned it earlier; he’d heard everything Jim had mumbled in that cell. No matter how much today’s revelations had changed his perception of his brother, for more than a decade a part of Jim had hated Sam for instigating the events that led him to Tarsus. It was childish and immature of him, sure, but Jim _had_ been a child at the time. While Jim had made the decision to go joyriding, while Frank had sent him to Tarsus IV, and while Kodos had murdered thousands of people and tortured him, Sam had abandoned him. After promising to always be there for him.

Of course, now Jim knew _why_ and it was a damn good reason, but he couldn’t take back the honest words he had mumbled in the solitude of that cell. As much as Jim had been pummelled physically, Sam had been tortured emotionally, and the worst of it had come from Jim himself.

“I thought you’d abandoned me,” Jim reminded him, dropping his gaze to his lap. “I thought you made the conscious decision to never talk to me again, to leave me behind with...with no usable concept of what it meant to be cared for and—” Jim’s voice caught, and he swallowed back the rising tide of emotion. Fuck, when was the last time he got this sappy without alcohol involved? “I had that from you. I knew what it was like to be cared for, and then you left. And when you were gone, I came to the conclusion that love was only temporary. It never lasts. I made that realization at an age I shouldn’t’ve, and then the famine hit and the massacre happened, and...well, that really didn’t improve my outlook on life. In my emotionally stunted mind, I traced that all back to you. The day you left, when the only person who had ever cared about me left me behind, that’s when everything went downhill. I could deal with Mom’s negligence, I could deal with Frank’s abuse, and I maybe could’ve dealt with Tarsus _if I had you.”_

Jim felt wetness on his cheeks and he let out a small chuckle, still refusing to look up at Sam. “In another life, you were there for me,” he said vaguely, remembering flashes of himself talking with an older Spock, opening up to him about one of the worst moments of his life and how at least he’d had his family to help him through it. Jim groaned a bit, eyes squinting in discomfort. Whatever old Spock had done to him still left him feeling overwhelmed by all the excess thoughts, emotions, and memories floating around in a mind they did not belong in.

“Jimmy?” Sam asked hesitantly, his own tribulations shoved aside in his worry for Jim.

“‘m fine,” Jim mumbled, bringing up a hand to rub his forehead. He really hoped all the extra memories of a different— _better_ —Jim Kirk would eventually fade and stop haunting him with a life he’d never be able to lead. A life he _should_ have led. _‘James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man. He went on to captain the_ USS Enterprise. _But that was another life. A life I will deprive you of, just like I did your father—’_

“Jimmy!”

Jim surged back into awareness with a deep shuddering breath, launching him into yet another coughing fit. This one was violent enough to set off some alarms, and Bones burst into the room just a second later. In the midst of struggling to breathe, Jim wondered idly if he’d been waiting just outside the door this whole time.

In a flurry of motion, Bones emptied two hypos in Jim’s neck before he even had the chance to protest, and Jim immediately felt a numbing sensation spread through his throat. There was a hand on his chest and on his shoulder helping to steady him as he took large breaths to replenish his oxygen supply.

“Easy, Jim,” Bones chided as Jim tried to speed up his breathing pattern. When he finally normalized his air intake, Bones moved a hand to Jim’s throat and pressed gently around the area with the pads of his fingers. “A bit swollen, but it should be fine without more aggravation,” he said, withdrawing his hand. He looked over at Sam with a hard glare. “I told you if you worked him up at all, you’d be gone—”

“Bones, I’m fine—”

“Fine as gravel,” Bones muttered skeptically, though thankfully relenting a bit in his hostility before turning his attention back on Sam. “What happened?”

“He spaced out for a moment and when I got his attention back it was like he had forgotten to breathe. He took too large of a breath and that triggered the fit,” Sam explained, eying Jim like he was going to explode in coughs again.

Jim looked away with a huff. “I’m fine,” he said again, crossing his arms stubbornly. It did not escape his notice that Bones and Sam glanced at each other over his head and he groaned in exasperation. “Fucking hell, you’re the same person.”

“We’re just worried about you, Jimmy,” Sam said.

Jim tried to give a snap retort, but the effect was ruined by a large yawn that his voice squeaked on.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for now, kid,” Bones said, adjusting the IV by Jim’s bed. “Get some rest and then you might get outta here sooner—”

“You’re gonna release me already?” Jim grinned, slumping back onto the pillows behind him as a wave of exhaustion passed through him. _That second hypo was a relaxant, sneaky bastard,_ Jim realized belatedly. Jim knew Bones would never give him a sedative, but in his state, a muscle relaxant would be just as effective at knocking him out. Rude. Well, Jim supposed he could overlook that if Bones was really gonna release him so soon—

“Out of the _ICU.”_

“Boo,” Jim whined obnoxiously.

Bones rolled his eyes before turning on Sam. “I want you out of here while he’s resting—”

“Bones—”

“It’s fine, Jimmy,” Sam said placatingly. “I should give Aurelan a call anyway, and I wouldn’t want to disturb you in here. I’ll be back later. That is, if you want—”

“Yeah,” Jim said readily. “That’d be nice.”

Sam smiled gratefully before giving Bones a nod and heading for the door.

“Sam, wait!” Sam stopped and looked at Jim with a questioning raise of his brow. "Boy or girl?" Jim asked, a loopy grin on his face as exhaustion gnawed at him.

"Boy," Sam said promptly, looking immensely proud of his impending fatherhood.

"What's 'is name? Y’know yet?" Jim asked, voice slurring as his eyes drooped closed.

"Yeah," Sam said, voice growing softer. "Peter James."

Jim slipped under with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed, the external POVs I mentioned I was playing with were Bones and Sam. Basically the idea is to follow the progression of events that Jim had no access to, like how Bones and co. figured out where Jim and Sam were, what Sam was going through, etc.
> 
> One day I'll post it. One day.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated :)


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